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Bonnie's in his dreams just about every night.
That part of it isn't surprising. She got in his head pretty fast, he can admit that. But it's starting to interfere with his sleep, and if he wants to get cleared for duty he needs to find a way to get her out.
He tries some of the lucid dreaming techniques Doctor Copeland taught him back when he was seeing her, and they help for a while. He buys some melatonin, but that doesn't really do much, even when he doubles the recommended dose.
And then one night he dreams he's back in the room, and there's the brittle sound of the key turning in the door, and he's lying on his back staring at the ceiling and he can't move, he can't move, he can't move a muscle.
“Lunch time, sweetie. I know how much you love grilled cheese sandwiches.”
It's not Bonnie.
You're dreaming. Wake up. Move. Get out of this fucking bed now.
His mother's face appears above him, looking down at him with her brow wrinkled.
“Daniel?”
He wakes up screaming.
The Gameday Men's Health facility in Santa Monica is pretty fancy – and correspondingly expensive – but Buck's been assured by the trainer at his gym that this is the best option if he's serious about treatments. The very well-dressed receptionist offers him cucumber water, which he politely turns down, before he's ushered into an office with furniture that probably cost more than the stuff in Buck's whole house.
“Good news, Mr. Buckley,” the consultant says, as she calls up his test results on the screen embedded in the desk. “Your testosterone levels are perfectly normal.”
Buck frowns as she explains the results in more detail. “B-but they're not as high as they could be, right? I mean, I'm going to be thirty-four in seven months.”
“Yes, cisgender men's testosterone levels naturally decrease as they age,” she allows, “but your levels are well within a healthy range.”
“But they could be higher.”
Her eyebrows go up. “They could. But it's not recommended by either the science or any reputable medical professionals that you increase them by means of injections, pellets or Clomid.”
Buck feels like he's sinking into the chair. “But I need – I need to be stronger.”
“Have you been experiencing a decline in your strength? The profile you completed indicated you're an active duty firefighter who regularly trains and can bench press –”
Buck pushes himself to his feet. “Okay, thanks, uh, Ms. Santorini. I appreciate your time.”
“Mr. Buckley,” she says before he can leave, “we do have other options if you have concerns about your strength or energy levels – B12 or antioxidant injections, for example – but you might want to ensure your own doctor has recommended them before exploring those possibilities.”
“Sure,” Buck says, smiling thinly. “I'll do that.”
Buck's dumping chia seeds into the blender when there's a knock on the door.
Eddie's expression is unreadable, but this is not new. His feet are planted wide on Buck's front step as though he's bracing against a stiff wind. “You, uh, I thought I'd stop by to see if you were okay.”
“Why wouldn't I be?” Buck says, stepping back to let him enter.
“I texted you two hours ago and you didn't answer.”
“Oh. I was – busy, sorry,” Buck says, heading back to the kitchen.
“Busy doing what?”
“Shopping, mostly.” He guesses that's pretty obvious, considering there are three bags still on the counter. He's going to have to move some of the baking supplies to make room for it all in the cupboards.
Eddie frowns as he peers into one of the bags. “Why are you buying maca powder?” He pulls out a container, then another. “Bee pollen, horse chestnut, white sapote, tepezcohuite...Jesus.”
Buck folds his arms. “So you came here to rag on my choice of supplements?”
Eddie hangs his head, then turns around and leans back against the counter. “You know I didn't.”
“Thought I'd try something new to see if it boosts my energy levels. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn't say there was.”
Buck raises his eyebrows. “So?”
Eddie spreads his hands. “Are you telling me you didn't see the news this morning?”
For a split second, Buck considers lying, but he knows it wouldn't work. “Yeah, I saw it.”
“And?”
Buck shrugs.
“Buck,” Eddie murmurs. “They found –”
“Nine graves, I know.” He can't say nine bodies. Graves is easier.
Eddie passes a hand over his face. “It's horrible. That asshole of a sheriff had this going on under his nose for years. And you're telling me nobody else in that town knew?” He shakes his head.
“If they did, it's going to rip that town apart.”
“Good,” Eddie says feelingly. “Let 'er rip.”
“Anyway,” Buck says, suddenly wanting this conversation to be over. “What matters is you kept them from making it to double digits.”
“No, we did,” Eddie said. He takes a step forward, raises his hand to reach for Buck's arm.
Buck doesn't move, and Eddie wobbles to a stop.
“Buck.” Eddie runs a hand through his hair. “I've told you I'm here anytime you want to talk about what happened. And you haven't, and that's totally fine, it doesn't have to be me. But I – I hope you're talking to somebody. Are you?”
Buck's jaw twitches. “Dr. Copeland moved back to Vermont a little over a year ago. I haven't had any luck finding another therapist since.”
“The Department has –”
Buck shakes his head. “I tried a few of them already.”
“Then Maddie? Hen? Someone.”
“Eddie, I appreciate you –” Buck clears his throat “– uh, looking out for me, but really, I'm good. I'm – getting better.”
Eddie's too-sharp gaze searches his face, then he nods. “Okay, I'll – leave you to your smoothie,” he says, too quietly.
“Eddie,” Buck begins, but Eddie's already heading for the door.
The nightmares change again.
This time, when Buck frees himself from his bonds, a second shot rings out before he can reach Earl with the cattle prod. He stumbles, falls. He barely feels himself hit the ground.
“Took you long enough!” Bonnie shouts, her voice shrill but triumphant. “But you finally manned up, at least. You finally manned up.”
Lying face-down in the dust, Buck hears the sound of sirens and thinks too late too late too –
He gets cleared for duty a few days after that. On the way home from the doctor he buys another container of the maca powder. It's clearly helping, because he feels stronger every day.
He still has a long way to go, though, and he can't afford to slack off now. Any weakness could get him killed. Worse, it could get Eddie –
Buck shakes his head to clear it.
That won't happen again. He can never let it happen again.
He'd forgotten how much crap was floating around the fire station.
Popcorn, chips, cookies. Gifts from grateful citizens of everything from brownies to doughnuts. Dozens of cans of energy drinks full of caffeine and high fructose corn syrup.
Garbage, all of it.
Buck's briefly tempted to throw it all out, but he knows he'll have a riot on his hands.
It's fine, he can resist temptation. And when he's on shift, he's the head cook.
At least until Harry gets a little too big for his probie britches.
“What the hell are you doing?” Buck demands, as Harry puts the finishing touches on a huge pan full of some kind of pasta bake.
“Hey, Buck.” Chim claps him on the shoulder. “Where this is only your second shift back, Harry asked me if he could take over the chow duties to give you a break.”
“I don't need a break, and what's that?”
“Mom's famous tuna casserole,” Harry says, beaming. “I know I'm not as good a cook as you are, but I got her recipe and followed it to the letter.”
Buck's knees suddenly feel weak. “I'm – gonna need that recipe.”
“Uh,” Harry says. “Do – do you have an allergy? It's the same one May would have made a couple of months ago at her place when you –”
“I'm trying to eat healthier, is all,” Buck says, smiling thinly.
Harry cocks his head. “Are you saying my mom doesn't cook healthy?”
“Okay,” Chim says, spreading his hands. “And that's a wrap on that conversation. Buck, please apologize to Harry, because I do not want to see Athena whip your ass when she finds out you cast aspersions on her cooking.”
“I didn't – fine,” Buck grits, when Chim's eyebrows threaten to fly off his face and hit the ceiling. “Sorry, Harry. You know I think your mom's cooking is great.”
Harry breaks into a smile. “No problem, Buck. You're going to love it, trust.”
Buck smiles again. When the food is ready, he makes himself scarce while everyone else serves themselves. The scoop that's left is small enough that he figures it won't mess with his meal plan.
Buck makes sure he's first in the kitchen to prepare the meals from then on. He overhears Harry calling him a 'control freak' one day, but he doesn't give a shit.
Harry doesn't understand, and Buck hopes he never will.
In addition to a meal plan, Buck develops a customized strength and endurance building regimen using his backyard gym. He loves having the freedom to do whatever he wants, to not have to worry about opening hours or well-meaning trainers or judgmental gym bros.
If he wants to train at three in the morning, he can. If he wants to double the reps to achieve a goal faster, he can.
He can do anything.
“Hurry up, I'm starving,” Ravi says, already in his street clothes and leaning against the door frame of the locker room.
“I'm coming,” Harry says. “Been fantasizing about those huevos rancheros for hours.”
“You need better fantasies,” Eddie says, shrugging into his shirt. He's been cleared for duty for over a week, but Buck can still see the ghosts of scars on his cheeks when he gets close enough.
Not that he does that much anymore.
“I, uh, I'd like to come but I got – too much to do today, sorry.”
Eddie's the first to look at him. Buck doesn't look back.
“La Abeja's huevos rancheros are more important than your laundry,” Harry says with conviction.
“Clearly you haven't been around Buck when he wears the same socks three days in a row,” Ravi says.
“Ha ha,” Buck mutters, doing up the buttons on his jeans. There's more give at the waist than there was a month ago, before they went to Nashville. He makes a mental note to work harder on building his core this week.
“You guys have fun,” Buck hears Eddie say. There's a heavy silence, and by the time Buck looks up Ravi and Harry are gone.
“Go ahead,” Buck grunts, reaching for his t shirt. “I know you love La Abeja.”
“So do you,” Eddie says.
“Yeah, well, I got a million things –”
“– to do today.”
Buck's head emerges from the neck hole of his t shirt and Eddie's standing right in front of him.
“This is the fourth time you've turned down going out to eat since we got home.”
“You've been keeping track of my social calendar?”
Eddie's jaw muscle twitches. “First there was Pepa's birthday, then the station barbecue at Chim's.”
Buck shoves his hands in his pockets. “I was still recovering then. My energy levels aren't a hundred percent, even now.”
“You keep saying that. Have you talked to the doctor about it?”
Buck shakes his head. “I don't need to. I can get better on my own.”
“With bee pollen?” Eddie says. The skepticism lacing his tone is irritating.
“I lost a lot of muscle mass. I need to build back up, and the supplements help with that.” He turns toward his locker, eager to be done with this conversation. It doesn't matter. In two months, maybe three, he'll be so much stronger, and Eddie will be singing a different tune.
“Did the supplements keep you from coming to dinner with me and Christopher last Sunday?”
Buck freezes. “I – ” There's a part of him, a part that's shrinking every day, that knows what he's doing doesn't look normal. He gets that. It's just that the rest of him is screaming at him that he can never, never be that weak again.
“Did I – do something?” Eddie says quietly. “I said I was sorry for – for stirring up shit in the bar.” He barks a harsh laugh. “Man, you'll never know how sorry I am.”
Buck frowns. “Those assholes didn't have anything to do with what happened to me.”
“They focused attention on us. If I hadn't gotten into it with that guy –”
Buck shook his head once, sharply. “She had me picked out the moment she saw me.”
“I'm just saying you have every right to be mad at me. If I hadn't gone spoiling for a fight, I wouldn't have pegged them as the prime suspects. I might have been there sooner.”
“I'm glad you weren't,” Buck murmurs.
Eddie opens his mouth, closes it. “I don't – what does that –”
Buck glances past Eddie's shoulder at the exit. “Look, I have to be across town in twenty minutes,” hs lies smoothly. “Can we – shelve this for now?”
There's a long, silent pause. “Okay,” Eddie says finally. “Maybe I will go with Ravi and Harry after all. I'll see you next shift?”
Buck nods. “See you.”
As soon as he gets home he plans out the next week's training and gets to work right away.
When he wakes up the next morning, Eddie's sitting on the edge of his bed.
“Jesus Christ,” Buck gasps, clutching at his chest.
“I thought about waiting in the living room, but I decided this would be more dramatic.”
“You were right.” Buck shoves himself up on his elbows. “What time is it?”
“After nine.”
“Huh.”
“Huh? Is that all you got to say, Mr. Up With the Crack of Dawn?”
“I sleep in sometimes.”
Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah. When you're up all night working out. Which apparently is a new habit you've acquired.”
Buck's jaw drops. “You – how would you know that?”
“I've been hiding in your walls.”
“Eddie.”
Eddie purses his lips. “Last week I stopped by late and saw the light on in the back yard. For the hell of it, I stopped by the next few nights. The light's been on every time.”
Buck pushes off the covers and sits up all the way. “Maybe I – just left it on.”
“I can hear you grunting over the fence.”
“You're sounding like a stalker, if you care.”
“I can assure you I do not care one fucking iota,” Eddie says lowly.
“So, you caught me working out,” Buck says. “So what?”
“In the middle of the night, every night, for hours.”
“Yeah, and I'm seeing results.”
“How much more are you benching now?”
Buck looks at his hands. “Well, I'm not back to where I was yet. I'm trying to build strength across every muscle group.”
“At once? You know that's not sustainable.”
“I figured out a system,” Buck says, grinning.
Eddie is unmoved. “Oh yeah? You're your own trainer now, too?”
“What's wrong with that?”
“I could list everything that's wrong with your approach for days and not scratch the surface,” Eddie growls, getting to his feet and starting to pace like a caged tiger. “You're pushing yourself far past your limit, you're taking bullshit supplements that no reputable trainer would recommend, and you're – well, I don't know enough about this, but I'm scared shitless after talking to Harry yesterday.”
“What did Harry say now?” Buck snaps.
Eddie runs a hand through his hair. “You ever hear of orthorexia?”
Buck frowns. “No.”
“Neither had I, but Harry's fifteen years younger than we are and apparently they teach stuff like that in high school health classes now. It's a – it's a kind of eating disorder.”
Buck rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on.”
“That was what I said. At first. And then he started talking about the signs, and your behavior lately is ticking a lot of the boxes.” Before Buck can think of a response, Eddie sits down again, close enough to him that Eddie's knee is brushing Buck's thigh. “Buck. I found an organization that might be able to help, and I'm asking you to talk to them.”
“Eddie, I don't –”
“Today. We can go there together. Please.”
“You don't understand,” Buck pleads. “I need this.”
“Need what?” Eddie says softly.
“I need to – to make sure what they did to me never happens again.”
“And you think – getting stronger will help,” Eddie says slowly.
Buck nods, relieved Eddie gets it. “Exactly. See, the problem was I couldn't fight back. I wasn't strong enough. I can fix it, though, All I have to do is –”
And then Eddie takes Buck's hand in his, and Buck stops talking. He almost stops breathing.
“The first night I came by your place last week, I was itching for a fight. That asshole sheriff had called me earlier to pass on a message from the husband.”
“Earl.”
“Yeah, Earl, I don't give a fuck what his name is, I hope he rots in hell. Which is exactly what I told the sheriff. But apparently Earl wanted me to know he was sorry, and that he swore he was having a real hard time shooting me.
“I asked why that should be considering he hadn't had a problem with the nine other people they murdered, and the sheriff said it was because you told him and his wife to let me go.” Eddie sucks in a ragged breath. “That I had a son, and you'd do anything if they convinced me to go away and didn't hurt me.”
Eddie turns Buck's hand over, his thumb idly tracing the life line, and Buck can't look away, can't move, can't think.
“I was so pissed after that call, you have no idea. I was going over to your place to tell you about it, because of course it had to be a lie. That you would just – give up, let go, not let me at least try to fight for you. But I got to your place, and I heard you hitting the heavy bag again and again, and I was suddenly terrified it might be true. And then yesterday, when you said you were glad I hadn't shown up sooner - I knew. And that means I'm the one who did this to you.”
Buck shakes his head. “No, Eddie, I told you, it had nothing to do with the guys in the –”
“I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the will. My will.” Buck looks up, and he's horrified to see Eddie's eyes are brimming with tears. “I made you Chris' other guardian, and I had no right to – it's not – God, I'm so sorry – you almost – I –”
And just like that, Eddie is sobbing, and Buck's using their joined hands to pull him into a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of both of them.
“If you think I would have loved that kid any less if you hadn't put my name down on a piece of paper, you're nuts,” Buck murmurs against Eddie's neck.
“I thought you were dead,” Eddie chokes. “When I pulled the tarp off that truck I thought, I'm not going to find him alive. I grabbed that gun and I – went kind of crazy. If you'd been – I honestly don't know what I would have done.”
“Lucky you didn't have to find out,” Buck says.
“Yeah, we were lucky,” Eddie agrees, pulling back and wiping at his eyes. “But we also fought like hell for one another.”
“We did.”
Eddie reaches a shaking hand to Buck's jaw, and Buck shivers. It's almost too much to take in. “I've been thinking a lot about that, too. About what it means when you can't imagine life without someone. About what it means when a whole town full of rednecks thinks you're a married couple and you don't care about correcting them because there's more truth in it than you could admit to yourself.
“About all the things we haven't been talking about, and maybe should have been, but one of us was too scared of fucking it all up.”
“You, uh,” Buck begins, then takes the plunge. “You weren't the only one.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, venturing a smile as he slides his hand to the back of Buck's neck. “I wondered about that. We usually find our way back to each other, but we haven't been the same for a long time, and I think it was because we didn't want to lose our friendship. The irony is, we're in danger of losing it because the fear is strangling us.”
“I don't want to be scared anymore,” Buck murmurs, leaning his forehead against Eddie's.
“Neither do I. But we are, and it's going to take more than just the two of us to get past it – and all the other stuff weighing us down.” Buck feels the brush of Eddie's lips against his temple and closes his eyes.
“Yeah, I think you're right about that.” He looks up into Eddie's beautiful face. “I'll go to that place you mentioned, if you come with me.”
“Thank you,” Eddie breathes, and Buck's not sure which one of them leans in first, but the chaste, simple kiss that follows is enough to take a bit of that weight from his shoulders.
They'll shake the rest of it off together.